


A Redhead Walks Into a Bar...

by intricatearticulation (chemma66)



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual John Watson, Blowjobs, Crossover, Fluff, M/M, Smut, cuteness, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemma66/pseuds/intricatearticulation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...and gets picked up by John Watson. The redhead in this case is Martin Crieff. </p>
<p>That's it, that's the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I began this little gem of cuteness back before Season 3 and before Martin met the lovely Princess. Let's pretend it exists in some little time bubble after Hounds, shall we?
> 
> This is just me indulging in one of my favorite ships other than Johnlock. Martin Crieff is a precious baby who must be taken care of, including and not limited to copious kissing and cuddling. John Watson is a flirty motherfucker who loves charming the pants off people. I find these two chaps very wonderful together.
> 
> Shout-out to [Matthew McConaughey](http://unknownsister.tumblr.com/) for the title and encouragement. 
> 
> The following is not brit-picked or edited by anyone other than myself. If you see anything, please let me know - perhaps in a message to my [tumblr](http://intricatearticulation.tumblr.com/)? It would be much appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> **Edit 6/1/2015**
> 
> Hey there! So I've been busy this past month working on a spec script for a submission to a competition... but that ended May 31, so I want to get back to fic for a bit of a break. I wrote a follow-up to this a while back, which I should be able to edit and post within a week or two. 
> 
> That being said - anyone willing to do a quick edit/beta, even just this once, it would be much appreciated! Either way, I'll do my best to post it soon.
> 
> <3<3

"I don't get it," John says, tilting back his glass until the amber liquid near the bottom finally hit his lips. Hmm. That took a bit longer than he thought; he should probably grab another.

 

"It's just a preference thing, I guess. I don't know, my daughter thinks it's hilarious." Lestrade answers, not bothering to move his elbows off the table as he shrugged.

 

"What, to make fun of people like that? Sounds pretty racist to me," John continues. He glanced around the bar, wondering if there were any "gingers" there that might take offense. He had just realized he was talking pretty loudly, though the place was decently crowded for a Thursday night.

 

"No, no. It's not as intense as that, I think it's just some good-natured teasing. Not saying they’re soul-less freckled monsters to their face, or anything," Lestrade explains.

 

John nearly spits the remainder of his beer in Lestrade's face.

 

"What did you say? Blimey, that's horrible," he sputters, wiping the liquid he hadn't managed to choke down off of his chin.

 

Lestrade grins and John immediately becomes wary.

 

"Oh come on now, John. It's not as if you're the world's ambassador to redheaded folks. Out of all the girls you've dated, how many were ginger?" Lestrade asks.

 

"Sarah! Sarah had red hair!" John shoots back at him.

 

Lestrade just laughs and takes another swig, raising his eyebrows slightly.

 

"Okay, so it was reddish. But that counts," he continues.

 

"Sure. And what happened to her, huh? Oh, that's right, she was kidnapped, nearly killed, and then you spent a few nights on her couch," Lestrade says.

 

John looks as though he was about to say something more, but the words die on his tongue before he even makes an attempt. He was sure there were more… he just can’t recall the hair color of each specific person he’d taken out for the last 30-odd years.

 

Lestrade lets out a chuckle, breaking his concentration.

 

"You've made your point. But it's not something I did deliberately."

 

"Ok then, prove it," Lestrade says, surveying the bar as John adopted a confused expression.

 

"What?"

 

"Prove it. Prove that you love gingers just as much as the next tall, dark-haired detective. Oops-- I mean, person," Lestrade leers, faking remorse at his slip-up and covering his giggles with another sip of beer.

 

John gives him the deadliest scowl he can muster, knocking back the last of his drink. But he doesn’t say anything - no, that particular subject needed a few more beers and perhaps a shot or two. Definitely didn't need to be remembered in the morning.

 

He could've shot him down easily, he thought. He could've explained that this was ridiculous, a stupid game to play and that he had to head home anyway. Lestrade would let him go with just a few playful remarks, but that would be it.

 

But John Watson was not one to back down from a challenge, and he and Sherlock had just finished a particularly difficult weeklong case that involved a heavy amount of research and cross-referencing. John had of course done most of the "tedious work" himself. He deserved a reward, a nice laugh. He could end the night with a number, or maybe something more, if he was lucky. And now Sherlock was gone for the weekend, off on some last-minute legwork for Mycroft; he had Baker Street to himself, a pouting, judgmental flat mate-free zone.

 

"Go on, then," John says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, waiting for Lestrade to issue whatever terms he deemed necessary for this particular mission.

 

Lestrade just nods and kept eye contact.

 

"Bloke at the end of the bar. My ten o'clock," Lestrade says.

 

John blanches for a moment at Lestrade's blatant acknowledgement of his bisexuality, his eyebrows shooting up involuntarily. It wasn't necessarily a mystery or something he wanted to hide. He'd told him a few hilarious ex stories, one of which included a rather embarrassing shopping trip with an ex-boyfriend in college. It hadn’t been a huge matter then, and wasn’t now.

 

John studies Lestrade’s face and can see now that maybe he thought John wouldn’t be as steadily footed around men, and could perhaps be thrown off at the thought of having to chat up a guy. Well then.

 

John turns his head carefully toward the direction of the man Lestrade had indicated to, and his first thought was indeed, "Wow, he's not playing around with that hair." But that didn’t put him off it all. In fact, the man's short, wavy hair and pale complexion showed off his slightly gawky frame and ridiculous collection of freckles - it was incredibly endearing. John was immediately intrigued by this adorable person and wondered why he hadn't noticed him sitting on his own before then. He was hunched over the bar, slowly sipping at the half-full glass before him, looking idly off into space and drawing little designs across the condensation.

 

Seemingly harmless, more to him than met the eye, possibly charming - right up John's alley.

 

John gives Lestrade a quick nod before grabbing his empty glass and standing quickly. He makes his way up to the bar and plops himself at the empty stool next to the man. He gives him a friendly smile before indicating to the bartender that he needs a refill.

 

"Alright, mate?" He asks, opting for an easy open to a conversation with a bloke that looked like he needed someone to talk to.

 

"Uh, yeah. Thanks," the man replies. He picks up his glass after a small fumble, giving John a half-natured cheers and taking a large sip. John watches as he grimaces, clearly struggling with the swallow. He can’t help but chuckle at the guy's obvious distaste for whatever he was drinking.

 

"Not a fan of beer, then?" John asks.

 

He seems surprised that John had attempted further conversation with him, and stutters a bit before replying.

 

"Well, no. Not really-- I just. It's okay, but not my favorite, I guess," he explains.

 

"What is it?" John asks.

 

"What?" He seems to have a permanent expression of bewilderment on his face.

 

"Your favorite," John says, slipping on his most charming smile.

 

"Oh, me? Well-- whiskey, usually. But I can't--" he was cut off by John turning back toward the bartender and gesturing him back over.

 

"Straight up, or on the rocks? Never would've guessed, but I have to appreciate your taste, at least," John says.

 

"No, no, you don't have to--" he stammers.

 

"C'mon, you're not going to stay here with me very much longer if it means you have to continue to struggle through that pint," John explains.

 

"It's not that. It's… I can't," he gives up for a moment, a deep sigh of defeat overtaking him.

 

John waits, thankful that the bartender was distracted momentarily by filling up his new pint. He smiles warmly at the man fidgeting next to him.

 

"I don't have enough for another," he explains, his face turning read in shame.

 

John can’t help it, laughing out loud despite the bloke's obvious shame – he thought he’d been coming onto him pretty clearly.

 

He reins it in quickly, covering it with ordering a decent whiskey on the rocks and finally taking his beer from the hovering barkeep.

 

The red-haired man has his faced turned away and looks to be in physical anguish, possibly about to make his escape. John couldn't have that.

 

"I'm buying you the drink," John explains, resting his hand reassuringly on the other man's arm. He lets it linger there until he finally turns back around.

 

"Really? Why?" he asks.

 

John chuckles once more, grabbing the drink as it was handed over the bar.

 

"Because I want to. That okay?" John asks.

 

"Uh… yeah. Yeah. It's fine," he answers, smiling a lifting his drink carefully.

 

John clinks his glass against the redhead’s; taking a sip and watching the other man savor his own drink. His delicate eyelashes flutter and he licks his lips slowly. John is mesmerized momentarily.

 

"I'm John. John Watson," he finally says.

 

"Martin Crieff," the other replies, coming back to himself and smiling sheepishly.

 

"Well, Martin, how does that compare to that cheap shite you were drinking earlier?"

 

Martin had taken another generous sip and lowered his drink reluctantly to reply.

 

"Oh god, it's so good," he practically moans.

 

John can almost feel his pupils dilate and his pulse spike at those words. His grin turns predatory as he leans forward a bit, propping his arm up on the bar. Martin seems to realize the implications in his response and reddens once more. John finds he quite enjoys watching the red shade spread across his features, all of the different shades of copper and orange sharpening each other.

 

"I'm glad," John answers. He lets the moment of tension linger a bit longer before rescuing Martin from starting the conversation.

 

"What do you do, Martin?" He asks.

 

"I'm a pilot," Martin declares, obviously proud of his profession.

 

"Oh? For what airline?" John asks, taking another sip of his drink.

 

"Um… it's-- MJN air. It's a small air… airline," Martin replies, closing off a bit once more.

 

"That's brilliant, Martin. I don't know many airlines at the drop of a hat, but I know they don't just give pilot's licenses to anyone these days. Well done," John says.

 

"Thank you," Martin smiles, preening a bit. "And you?"

 

"I'm a doctor," John answers. "I also do a bit of… blogging for a friend on the side, but my hours at the clinic are what pays the bills."

 

"A doctor?" Martin squirms a bit on his stool. "That's much more impressive than what I do."

 

"Are you kidding? Martin, you manage to take loads of people up in the sky, safely and quickly I might add, to places that are miles and miles away. I deal with about 10 cases of the flu, a few sniffles, and some sprained limbs every few days. I think yours wins this round," John says.

 

"Oh… no, it's to as glamorous as all that! It's--" Martin starts, but John cuts him off by sneaking a warm hand to his knee and squeezing lightly.

 

"Quit giving yourself a hard time. It's amazing," John insists, withdrawing his hand but smiling warmly. He's rewarded by a bit of a deeper blush from Martin and a tentative grin in return.

 

“Just a few flights a week for the odd client,” Martin stammers.

 

“Anywhere particularly interesting?” John asks.

 

“If the job calls for it, yes. But we don’t get to… that is, my crew and I don’t have much time to explore the places, unfortunately.”

 

“That’s a shame,” John says. “Can’t beat the view from your end though, I bet. Even just flying in and out of places.”

 

“It is quiet spectacular, when the air is clear,” Martin admits.

 

"And when you're not flying, then?" John asks.

 

"Um, I have a van. I help people move things, on my off days. For uh-- for extra cash," Martin explains.

 

"Christ, you work hard," John teases. "You deserve another whiskey, I think."

 

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly-- you don't need to do that," Martin says, looking regretfully down at the drink that was more than half gone. He’d been sipping steadily in between replies, and it hadn’t gone beyond John’s notice.

 

John shushes him with a wave of his hand, and turns around to order another drink for Martin. Martin was quiet and shy, but John enjoyed complimenting him and coaxing out little bits of information. John genuinely liked him, and was finding this whole “ginger” thing to be much more attractive than he’d first considered, his eyes drawn to Martin’s pale features and accentuating colors more and more often. He hoped that this second drink would make it a bit easier for Martin to relax.

 

When he turns back around, he finds Martin gazing at him, a far-off look in his eye. He doesn’t turn away immediately, so John held the eye contact and smiled, inching a bit closer. Martin seems to come back to himself, blushing furiously and giving a nervous hiccup before he fumbles with his glass and tries to take another sip. John chuckles, still watching. He couldn't help it; Martin had actually been gazing at him, and John reveled in the proof that the nervous man was interested.

 

"I need to-- I'm just going to use the…" Martin trails off, gesturing towards the loos at the back.

 

"Yeah, of course," John nods, helping him a bit with the simple request.

 

Martin smiles before chucking back the rest of his drink and sliding off his stool. John was impressed, though Martin did stagger a bit once he was standing on his own.

 

John was just reaching into his wallet to pay for the drinks the bartender was sliding over when he felt a presence back at his side.

 

"Nope, I believe those are on me," Greg grumbles, smirking at John as he slaps a few bills down on the bar.

 

John chuckles, giving him a shrug.

 

"What can I say. I have a thing for awkward, lanky individuals."

 

Greg's eyebrows immediately rise, though he doesn’t comment. John hadn't intended for that to sound nearly as incriminating as all that, he just mentioned the first things about Martin that had struck him, besides his vibrant hair color.

 

"Oh, piss off. He'll be coming back soon," John says, giving Greg a shove.

 

"Right, so you'll be leaving with him then?" Greg asks.

 

John crossed his arms, sitting back comfortably in his seat, mustering up as much confidence as he can.

 

"I’d like to, yeah," John answers.

 

Greg chuckles, shaking his head at John's brashness before slipping on the coat he had draped over his arm. With a wave over his shoulder and a gush of the night air, Greg exits the pub.

 

John reaches over for his drink, taking a generous gulp. He rubs his hands down over his jeans and ruffles his hair nervously. What was he doing in there? It'd been an awfully long time already.

 

As the thought turns about in his head, Martin materializes next to him. There was a brief scuffle as he tries to subtly scoot the stool closer to John whilst simultaneously climbing onto the seat; John chuckles as subtly as he can while Martin seems to be growing increasingly frustrated.

 

"Here, just…" John begins, pushing Martin gently to sit in the stool with his feet in front of him. John wills his shoulder to cooperate as he braces his right arm on the bar edge and wraps his fingers around one of the wooden legs. With a gasp of surprise from Martin, John pulls him closer, their shoulders nearly touching.

 

John can't keep the cheeky grin off his face as he looks back up at Martin and the wonderful blush that’s spread clear across the bridge of his nose. John has the urge to brush his fingers over his face; he keeps himself in check, pulling his hand back to rest on his own knee, his body angled toward Martin's.

 

"How's that?" John asks, though he knows the answer.

 

"Fine. Good. Uh, better," Martin grins.

 

He reaches over to take the newly poured glass of whiskey, savoring this sip as much as the first.

 

"Thank you, John. For another round. And for staying," Martin says, reaching his hand over. John watches has he hesitates in the middle, trembling a bit before finally taking the plunge and placing his hand on John's knee. It's warm and slightly sweaty, but it sends a shiver up John's spine nonetheless, knowing how much courage it took him to do that.

 

Finally, John's brain catches up with Martin's words.

 

"Staying? What, did you think I'd just leave as soon as I could?" John chuckles, careful not to jostle Martin's hand as he takes another sip of his drink.

 

The silence lets on more than Martin would probably like, and suddenly Martin's hand starts to slip away. John drops his glass back down and grabs for it, halting its progress. He gives Martin's fingers a reassuring squeeze.

 

"I like you. A lot," John confesses, knowing that Martin needs to hear this, no matter how obvious his flirting is.

 

"Thank you," Martin manages to say.

 

"I think you're attractive, intelligent, and I want to know more about you," John continues.

 

"Well…" Martin starts, but John stops him with another squeeze to his hand.

 

"Go on. Man with a van. There's got to be some stories there," John prompts, smoothing his fingers over Martin's and relaxing his grip.

 

And then Martin is telling him an outrageous story of a piano, a broken ankle, and the most dysfunctional group of people John has ever heard of occupying a car together. It has him laughing to near tears, and Martin even allows a few chuckles at his own antics, smiling all the while.

 

His hand slips from John's as he talks, freeing John's hand to reach for more of his drink. Martin takes a brief break in his story to take a sip of his own, his eyes nervously skating over to John's discarded hand, which stays on the bar.

 

John notices, of course, and once Martin's drinking hand is free, he grabs it and interlaces their hands where they lie on the surface of the bar. Martin reddens briefly, using his other free hand to continue his story. It takes him a few tries to start up once more.

 

"How can you stand him?" John asks once he’s finished.

 

"Who, Arthur?" Martin supplies, glancing over at their intertwined fingers with a small smile.

 

"No, Douglas. He treats you terribly. I don't see how you survive in that tiny cabin with him for so long," John says.

 

"Oh. Well, he's-- that's just the way Douglas is. He's not… he wouldn't--" Martin tries to explain, stalling with another sip of his drink.

 

"Lemme guess. He's an arrogant ass, but he's brilliant, and he's your friend," after the story Martin's told, John is able to deduce a few things about this other lad.

 

"Well. Yes," Martin agrees. He smiles at John and John can't help but return it.

 

"I might know someone just like that," John says.

 

"Oh?"

 

"Yeah," John answers, not really supplying anything else. Martin wouldn't want to sit here while John goes on-and-on about some ridiculous case, the danger involved, the brilliant conclusion--

 

"Come on, John! It's your turn for a story," Martin pleads, pulling on John's hand to stroke his own fingers over John's arm in a bold move. Martin's cheeks have a permanent pink tint to them; the whiskey is definitely settling in now.

 

"Right. Well, I guess that's fair," John admits.

 

"I want to know more about you too. I… I like you, as well," Martin says, his shyness in smaller doses now, just visible in a glance down to his lap.

 

John sucks in a breath, his mouth quirking up; something about Martin feeling strongly enough to show or tell John how he feels is… yeah, it’s definitely doing something for him. He squirms in his seat just a bit.

 

"Ok then, you asked for it," John says. Martin looks up with a wide grin and leans in to show he's listening.

 

John decides to tell him of their first case: the first mystery he and Sherlock had explored together, what had cause his fascination with the detective and his methods in the first place. To his delight, Martin is intrigued; curious with every twist the case takes. By the end, when John is describing that final scene at the college, Martin has moved quite literally to the edge of his seat, his previously unoccupied hand gripping John's knee in anticipation.

 

"Oh my god," Martin says at the end, slumping back in as chair as though he was running along with John, pushing open every door and searching through those torturously empty classrooms for that ridiculous man.

 

"Yeah," John agrees, mostly for lack of anything better to say.

 

"And this… this is how it is with him, all the time?" Martin asks.

 

"Most of the time. Not every day, mind, but it's…pretty incredible."

 

"Wow. I just… I--"

 

"What?"

 

"No, it's stupid," Martin says, reaching for his drink and swallowing the last of the melted dregs at the bottom of his glass in favor of elaborating.

 

"Tell me," John says, running his hand boldly up Martin's thigh. His neck reddens in response. The blush is running out of places to spread, John thinks idly.

 

"I just can't believe you thought my career was interesting, when yours-- it's not even your career! It's a hobby, and it's so fantastic, and so much more interesting," Martin admits.

 

"Well… maybe we should trade for a day, then," John suggests. To his delight, Martin laughs in response.

 

"I would never be able to keep up," Martin says.

 

"I could make sure you don't fall behind," John replies, and he knows he's _really_ being obvious now, he really does. But he also doesn't care.

 

Martin's eyes dance across his face, slightly glossed-over from the alcohol. He seems to gather himself before leaning forward and tilting his mouth toward John's ear in the crowded bar.

 

"But you'll be too busy flying the plane, John, won't you?" He asks, leaning back to quirk his eyebrow just so. His eyes stay glued to John’s lips, tantalizingly close in their proximity. “Unless you’d like to stick around, give me a few lessons first.”

 

John finds himself biting his lower lip in response. With anyone else, it would be a matter of seconds before he was flying across the space between them to snog the other senseless. But with Martin… he wants to take it much slower. This confidence the other man has built up feels fragile, and he's enjoying it - he doesn't want it to go disappearing just yet.

 

"Of course, how could I forget," John says, low enough that it's almost a growl.

 

Martin smirks, his fingertips dancing across the top of John's hand on his thigh almost absentmindedly. At this point, they’re leaning so far into each other’s spaces that the added element of handholding makes the whole thing almost superfluous. John immediately wants to get Martin somewhere more private where he can be more comfortable, get him to come out of his shell even further.

 

"Would you like to go somewhere else, Martin?" John asks, no implications or roughness in his voice; he attempts to keep it as innocent as possible, though he's not sure how successful he is.

 

Martin's eyes snap up to his, a little fear edging in.

 

"Where?" He asks, voice cracking.

 

"My flat, if you'd like. It's empty for the weekend," he adds, aware that he's just divulged countless facts alluding to his flat mate and the man's eccentricities. He doesn't want to scare off Martin in the least.

 

"I'd like-- that is, I'd… If we--" Martin stutters, struggling to answer, his eyes moving from his lap to the door in alarming frequency.

 

John moves his hand off Martin's thigh, giving him some space. He tugs on their still-joined hands a bit to get Martin's attention back on him.

 

"We could just have a cup of tea, yeah? Talk a bit more. Just like we're doing now," he says, rubbing his thumb over Martin's hand in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. All he can seem to focus on is how smooth the skin is there and how much he'd like to taste it. Christ, he's in trouble.

 

“Ok.” Martin says. He breathes in and out, visibly calming. “Yes, I'd like that.”

 

John smiles, releasing his hand to slide off of the stool. His beer long forgotten and Martin's drink empty, he walks toward the door. Martin is just behind him, so he places a hand low on his back to lead him outside. Once they're on the sidewalk, he keeps it there as they walk.

 

"My flat's just down a few blocks, if you don't mind walking," John says, leading them forward.

 

"That's fine," Martin answers, smiling as the cool air strikes his assuredly warm face.

 

John draws him close, his arm wrapping fully around his lanky frame. He fits his hand snugly against Martin's hip, Martin leaning against him in response. It's comfortable and pleasant against the night air; John finds himself slightly reluctantly to turn the corner onto Baker Street.

 

"It's just here," he indicates, stepping up to the doorway. His removes his arm to retrieve his keys from his pocket, Martin waiting behind him. Once the door is opened, John ushers him inside.

 

They make their way up the stairs to the flat, John risking a glance over to Mrs. Hudson's - but her light is off, it being well past the time when she usually retires. John hesitates just for a split second before opening the living room door, his fears assuaged when it indeed proves empty. Sherlock's coat is still gone and the space is just as he left it. He was worried about having to invite Martin up to his room directly, afraid that it might make him nervous, being in such an unfamiliar space with such implications. For now, he shows Martin over to the couch.

 

"I'll just put the kettle on," he says, making his way into the kitchen.

 

Martin slumps down into the sofa, observing their cluttered room and its odd assortment of objects. John putters around in the kitchen, making two cups of tea how he likes - milk, just a small amount of sugar, strong. He walks back out into the living room with the steaming cups in hand.

 

"Didn't know how you liked it, but let me know if it needs more sugar or anything," John says, handing the cup carefully over to Martin.

 

"Mmmh. I couldn't really tell you, honestly. It tastes just fine now," Martin smiles, sipping the hot liquid cautiously.

 

John sits in the middle of the couch, crooking his leg so he's facing Martin on the corner. He smiles as he sips from his own cup.

 

"I don't want you to think I got you all whiskey-ed up just so I could take you home," John admits.

 

Martin laughs into his tea, clutching the cup with both hands. He flashes John a charming smile.

 

"It was just so damn sexy, watching you enjoy those drinks so much. I could tell you don't indulge often. I wanted to give you that," John continues, feeling his own cheeks warming a bit for the first time that night.

 

It was true; Martin reminded him of himself in his uni days, scraping by on disgusting beer and cheap noodles from the shop down the street. It was just fine for someone at his age then, but Martin deserves better. His career, kindness, and earnest attitude - John wanted to give him something in return, even though he’d just met him. Especially since Martin seemed to appreciate it so thoroughly. It was nice to have those things acknowledged.

 

"Thank you," Martin says quietly.

 

"Tell me a bit more about your flying," John asks, resting his hand on Martin's thigh once more. He can't seem to keep his hands to himself anymore. "Have you always wanted to be a pilot?"

 

"Well, when I was younger, I--" Martin stops himself, shaking his head. John gives him a nudge.

 

"What?"

 

"I wanted to be an aeroplane," Martin admits, actually hiding his face behind the mug.

 

John can't help his laughter, loud enough to fill the room as his head falls back against the cushion. Martin joins in and John feels that much less guilty about being at a complete loss to control himself.

 

"I'm sorry, Martin," John wheezes, attempting to control himself. "I'm sorry, but that's…"

 

"It's fine, it's very stupid, I know," Martin says, his laughs trailing off.

 

"No! No, it's not stupid. You were young, all you could think about was flying, of course you'd want that."

 

Martin just shakes his head and takes another gulp of tea. John leans forward once his laughter has slowed.

 

"It's adorable, actually," John says, his voice lowering.

 

Martin is staring intently at his mouth as he moves closer and all of the humor is quickly drawn out of the room. John's mug is somewhere in his other hand, and Martin is slowly lowering his. John checks himself once more, glancing up to make sure Martin is okay with this before he moves the rest of the way. Their lips meet in a warm, tentative press, Martin titling his head sweetly to bring himself a little closer. John smiles a bit and brings his hand up to brush lightly over Martin's jaw, resting comfortably on his neck and bringing him even further into their kiss.

 

John draws back briefly to place his cup on the table, keeping his hand on Martin's neck. He can feel the warmth there, Martin's pulse quickening with their closeness and the intensity. John smiles and reaches for Martin's cup to place it next to his before he leans back in. Martin simply watches all of this, eyes locked on John's lips as though there is nothing else of worth in the room.

 

He meets John halfway this time, a desperation there that hadn't been present the first time. He scoots himself closer on the couch, his knees knocking against John's leg as he grips the side of the backrest.

 

John brings his other hand to Martin's waist, encouraging the proximity. Their mouths are moving against each other now, the hesitant tilt of Martin's head met by an accompanying angle of John's. It works quite well, if a little uncoordinated. Martin tastes like tea and whiskey, a delicious combination that John simply cannot get enough of.

 

Just as he thinks he should move back a bit, take a breath, calm himself, the tip of Martin's tongue barely touches his bottom lip; a tremor shoots down his spine and he opens his mouth to encourage Martin, drawing his bottom lip between his own to suck lightly.

 

Martin actually draws back a bit after that, panting heavily. His eyes are closed and his brow is furrowed, his hands moving restlessly across the couch. John catches the one closest to his leg and brings it to rest on his thigh.

 

"Good?" John asks.

 

Martin nods and brings himself in once more. He's enthusiastic, chasing after John's lips in any direction they happen to go which isn't nearer to his own. Finally his other hand finds the cuff of John's shirt, gripping the material tightly. He tugs there, further into John’s space; but he's blocked himself in their clamor, his own knees jumbled against John's leg and making it harder to increase their proximity.

 

"John," he gasps as he breaks off their kiss, tugging his shirt once more in frustration.

 

"C'mere, love," John says, moving back to stretch out his other leg. Leaning with his back on the cushions, there's an ample amount of space in his lap which he hopes Martin will take advantage of.

 

Martin hesitates for a moment, but he's still looking at John's mouth like he had in the bar, as though it was the last sip of that expensive whiskey. John reaches to put his hands around his thin waist, and Martin scrambles forward.

 

Martin smiles as he settles himself, his thighs spread and straddling John's waist. He quickly resumes his task of nibbling away at John's lips. After a few moments, his arms wrap fully around John's shoulders, and John's hands move to his back from where they've been resting on his hips. It brings them both that much closer together and John can feel himself getting hard in his jeans. Unable to resist, one hand goes to run through Martin’s wavy hair, the ginger locks even more soft and appealing than they’d seemed in the pub.

 

Martin's chest is flush with his, their warmth mingling together and mouths moving against each other. They sink into the cushions and each other, soft moans sounding from them both, the room full of wet noises and clothes ruffling against their bodies.

 

Martin's breath starts to quicken, his kisses growing more frantic. John moves to his neck, sure that he's forgotten to breathe properly in his enthusiasm. He nuzzles along his jaw, dotting kisses and small licks to the skin there. He follows the freckles in their sporadic assortment, delighted that there’s so many. When he pays attention to a particular spot near Martin's ear, the man lets out a high-pitched giggle.

 

John smiles, moving to replicate the action - but Martin's stopped dead and he's trying to pull back.

 

"Oh my god, I'm--" Martin starts, a blush forming.

 

"Martin. Martin stop," John tightens his hold on Martin's waist, seeking his eyes were they're downturned; Martin's frightfully embarrassed and doing his best to hide his face. Deciding that escaping is futile in such close proximity, he shoves his face into the crook between John's shoulder and neck. John can feel how warm he is there.

 

He rubs his hand reassuringly up and down Martin's spine, giving him a moment to calm himself.

 

"You don't need to be embarrassed," John says, planting a wet kiss to the side of Martin's head.

 

"I _giggled_ , John. That was… unexpected, and…"

 

"Sexy," John finishes for him. Martin just shakes his head in furious disagreement against his shoulder.

 

"It was. I liked it! I did," John assures him, smiling all the while. "I wanted you to do it again."

 

Martin is still, not voicing his embarrassment, but not removing his face from the safety of John's neck. John decides to take action.

 

He slows his hand on Martin's back, moving it in circles and across his shoulders, unpredictable movements that build tension rather than comfort, his other hand gripping Martin's thigh. His head tilts toward Martin's, nuzzling innocently for a moment as his hand sneaks to the edge of Martin's shirt.

 

"Please," he breathes, his hand finally touching skin underneath Martin's shirt. Martin gasps, leaning back just slightly into the touch.

 

"Please do it again," John asks, his nose nudging against Martin's temple until he moves his head back so John can find that spot once more.

 

It takes a bit of prodding and encouragement with his tongue, but finally, Martin giggles. John does it again, and again, chuckling in the space between kisses as Martin shakes in his lap.

 

"Stop! Stooopp," Martin wheezes, breaking into a fit of laughter. John acquiesces, moving his mouth across Martin's freckles, his sharp cheekbones, the redness on his nose.

 

"Gorgeous," John says, looking directly into Martin's light, indistinguishable eyes. They seem to be a stormy mix of blue and green, swallowed by black.

 

Martin shakes his head again, but he’s too dazed to duck down and hide once more.

 

John strokes over the patches he just kissed.

 

"Yes, you are."

 

"No, I…" Martin mutters, but John catches his mouth in a fierce kiss before he can finish the thought.

 

"Yes you are, dammit," he growls in between sucking on Martin's full lips, pulling him closer until their groins are right against each other. John wants to Martin to know exactly how sexy he thinks he is, and doesn't want him to doubt it for even a moment. He’s glad to find Martin is hard as well, though he could've guessed with how riled up the other man seems to be.

 

Martin's breath gushes out in a cut-off whine, gripping John's shoulders in a fierce clasp. His hips inch down and begin to move of their own volition, Martin's eyes scrunched closed and his head tilted back. John moans deep in his throat; it's intoxicating to watch.

 

"That's it," he murmurs, encouraging this unabashed pleasure.

 

"Oh, god," Martin gasps, continuing the motions.

 

"Yeah," John says, running his hand around and up Martin's chest, brushing over the nipples that are straining against his thin shirt. His hand comes around Martin's neck so he can bring him down into a kiss, slipping his tongue inside his mouth as he thrusts his hips up.

 

Martin's hands move from John's shoulders to his face, holding his mouth open and tilted to continue their tongues rubbing against each other, their hips mimicking the frantic action.

 

"Oh, oh god, John," Martin says a bit desperately. "I-- I need… mmhhh," he breaks off, unable to finish the thought.

 

"Shh, sh. What do you need?"

 

"I don't know," Martin confesses, his eyes finally opening as he looks around the room. It's as though he'd momentarily forgotten where he was. Suddenly the bright lights and openness of the room seem like too much, and John can recognize the self-consciousness creeping back in.

 

"Feels good, though, right?" John asks. He doesn't want to push Martin into anything he's unwilling to do. It's one thing to be shy; it's a whole other issue to force yourself into sex when it's too much and not what you want.

 

"Yes," Martin answers quickly. John nods, relieved.

 

"Upstairs, then? We can get more comfortable," John suggests, shifting a bit in his jeans. They've been too tight and straining against his cock for what feels like ages, and his stiff shirt is itching against his too-hot skin.

 

Martin takes a breath, but nods. John helps him back slowly off of his lap, a feat that's a bit difficult for both of them.

 

Once they're upright and arranged appropriately, John takes Martin's hand. He leans in for a lingering kiss that Martin responds enthusiastically to, smiling as they break away. John tugs on his hand, leading him up the stairs to his room.

 

John crosses the dark space to turn on the soft lamp by his bed rather than flicking on the harsh overhead light. Martin enters slowly as John toes off his shoes, his eyes taking in the small room. There isn't much to look at - John keeps it sparse and functional. There's enough chaos in the living room to make up for the entire flat.

 

Martin's eyes find John's, noticing he’s taken his shoes off. He bends down to thrust his off as well, standing awkwardly in his socks once he straightens. John can't help but smile. He walks up to Martin and takes his hand again, pulling their bodies close once more.

 

"Hello there," John smiles, nudging Martin's nose until they're kissing again.

 

They move slowly, getting back into their easy rhythm. John reaches between and begins to work his buttons off, desperate to feel Martin against his own chest with nothing in between. He slips the sleeves down his shoulders and breaks their kiss to toss the garment somewhere behind him.

 

He's about to reach for Martin's shirt when he notices the man's attention is diverted; his eyes are fixed to the gnarled, pink scar on John's shoulder.

 

"Its… war wound. From my time overseas. Doesn't hurt anymore, actually, and--"

 

Martin steps forward and places his mouth directly to the spot, a quick, revert peck. When he moves back, he traces the raised flesh with his fingers, just barely, until he comes back to himself.

 

"Oh, sorry-- was that--"

 

"No, that was. That was good," John says. He hadn't expected much. Some ignore his scar, others avoid it. But Martin's reverence, his acknowledgment, it was almost like he was honoring that part of John; it warmed a very different part of him. He tried not to let it overwhelm him too much.

 

"Should I…?" Martin asks, holding the edges of his shirt, hesitating before pulling it over his head. John nods, and Martin tugs it off, bearing his pale, dotted chest.

 

Once the shirt is discarded, Martin moves to cover himself with his hands, thinks twice, and then tries to conceal the move by scratching idly at something on his side.

 

John smiles and brings his hand to smooth over the man’s chest, his flat stomach. He pulls them together again before Martin can become too shy, pressing their bare chests together. Finally.

 

It feels just as excellent as John expected, and he wants to be rid of their jeans immediately. He reaches down and pulls his socks off before he forgets, coming back to wrap his arms fully around Martin once more. Martin's arms are around his shoulders, John's wrapped firmly around his waist.

 

Martin gradually moves from his attention on John's mouth and John stills, letting him explore. His moist lips drag across John's face as John's eyes flutter closed. Martin brushes his fingers slowly against his neck before he kisses there, small nips that turn into sucking kisses. Martin moans as the action increases, moving across the front of John's throat to lavish the other side.

 

"You like doing that?" John asks.

 

"Mhmm. You taste good," Martin admits, barely biting just under John's ear.

 

"Ah, god," John gasps, and one hand moves to Martin's arse while the other buries itself in his hair, encouraging more of that attention.

 

John's hips become restless, the kisses pushing him forward toward something he can't reach yet. The room is hazy and warm, Martin's body is perfect against his. But he wants more.

 

 

He steps back suddenly before the move can be anticipated, unbuttoning and shucking his jeans off quickly in one swift move. He keeps his navy pants on and slides back to sit against the pillows.

 

Martin looks on, slightly bereft and standing alone in his trousers. John pats the space next to him and looks at his jeans expectantly.

 

"It'll be much more comfortable without those, I promise. Come lay next to me," John asks.

 

Martin unbuttons his jeans and slides them off, revealing his simple white briefs underneath. He notices his socks right after, and lets out a small laugh as he balances against the bed to pull them off.

 

Once he's just in pants, he makes to climb over John and sit next to him. John can't resist a lingering touch to a moving limb, a kiss to a bare shoulder once it comes close enough, and Martin jolts and missteps, landing in a heap near John's knee.

 

"Oh!" He says, scrabbling to right himself.

 

John chuckles, scooting down to join him and halting his progress.

 

"No, no. You're right, this is much better," John says, wrapping his arms around Martin as they lay together on their sides. He nudges Martin's face until it's facing his, an adorable grimace directed at him.

 

"You tripped me," Martin says in mock-anger, trying his best to suppress a smile.

 

"I am…" John kisses him slowly. "So sorry…" He draws Martin's lips between his own, pulling it slightly as he draws back. "Will you ever forgive me?"

 

Martin is already distracted, shuffling his legs closer to John's until John reaches down and hikes Martin's leg over his hip; now they’re notched together, his leg slipping in between Martin's and bringing their erections together through the cotton of their pants.

 

"Ohhh," Martin breathes, his eyes sliding closed, reveling in the sensation. John struggles to keep his open, watching the other man's face. "Yes, yes. I'll forgive you. Ah…"

 

John chooses that moment to circle his hips, grinding them together. It feels like he's in his teens again, rutting against his lover in the back of the rugby locker room, hours after practice. The sensation, though, is sweeter and heavier, less rushed and full of hormones.

 

"John…" Martin sighs, joining the movement of John's hips. His hand moves slowly down John's back, hesitating just before the top of John's pants.

 

"Go on," John says, capturing his mouth in a wet slide of tongues. Martin's hand makes its way under his pants, grabbing a large handful of John's arse and pulling, shifting them even closer.

 

"Christ," John says, surprised by Martin's sudden eagerness. Taking the hint, John rolls them until he's hovering above Martin. He pulls Martin's other hand and places it on his lower back. With a sheepish grin, Martin takes the hint and slithers his hand to join the other on John’s bare cheeks.

 

In this position, John controls most of the tempo, but Martin can encourage the speed and intensity as he needs; it's delicious. Their kissing continues, though most of the focus is on the pressure to their cocks.

 

John keeps it slow at first, precome already dampening the fronts of their pants. But soon, Martin spreads his legs and pulls John in between, prompting loud moans from them both. The pressure is sweet and heady until it's not enough.

 

"Martin, can I…” John tries to clear his throat, making an attempt at sounding coherent. “I want to have you in my mouth," John says, pulling back to gauge Martin's reaction. He shudders below him, arching his neck and pushing himself against John.

 

John licks up the enticing, pale throat before him and nuzzles until he finds Martin's ear. He nips at his earlobe before speaking once more.

 

"I want to suck you until you come, Martin. Will you let me?" John asks.

 

Martin gasps and writhes, but still doesn't answer.

 

"I need to hear you say it, love."

 

Martin moans, swallowing a few times before he can speak.

 

"Yes, yes yesyesyes pleaseJohn yes," he says, the words finally coming out in a rush.

 

John kisses him in response before he begins his descent down his torso, leaving sweet pecks along the way. Once he reaches the front of Martin's pants, he rubs his mouth along the wetness there. He can feel Martin's dick underneath, completely hard and twitching at the direct attention.

 

"Ohgod," Martin squeaks.

 

"Can I take these off, now?" John asks sweetly.

 

Martin just nods frantically and lifts his hips up in response. John takes pity on him and grasps the elastic of his pants, pulling until his cock springs free. It's hard and red, leaking as though Martin has been aroused for quite some time - which, John realizes, might actually be true.

 

John pulls the pants the rest of the way off and tosses them in the heap that is their clothes. He leaves Martin for a moment to reach into his bedside drawer for a condom, moving back in between Martin's legs as fast as he can. He rips the plastic open and slides in onto Martin, eliciting a hiss from him.

 

John lowers himself, bent over to distribute kisses on each of Martin's inner thighs, running his fingers along the fine hairs there. Martin moans, slumping his head back into the bed and gripping the sheets in his clenched fists. John chuckles.

 

"I've got you," he says, running his lips up Martin's cock before he takes the tip into his mouth. Martin draws up his knees instantly at the contact, crying out.

 

John hums at the confirmation that he's doing well and takes as much as he can into his mouth, sucking and laving his tongue on the underside. It's less sensual with the condom, as John has learned from experience, but Martin doesn't seem to mind at all.

 

Moving his head up and down, he tries to keep the suction consistent and uses his hand to cover what he can't take in his mouth.

 

"Oh, god, John that's…" Martin starts, cutting off with a gasp as John draws back to just the head, focusing on running his tongue over the glans.

 

"GOD. It's good, oh god that's good," Martin begins to ramble, and John smiles as he pulls off completely.

 

"Yeah?" He asks, pumping his fist as he runs his unoccupied hand up Martin's chest.

 

"Please, please don't stop."

 

John returns to his task, enveloping Martin in his mouth, holding is bollocks in his palm to roll them softly. This earns a shudder from Martin, and he continues his attention there, building up the sensations until Martin's breath quickens.

 

John watches as Martin's eyes clench, a hand drawing up to grasp the pillow next to his face. John works his own hand a bit faster and moves his lips in a rapid motion over Martins cock.

 

"I'm-- John--" Martin manages to say.

 

John moves both of his hands to Martin's hips, drawing him up into his mouth, humming in pleasure and doing his best to swallow so Martin can feel his throat clenching.

 

Martin's mouth drops open as he comes, filling the tip of the condom. It’s a silent shout, one that John hears more from its rasp against Martin’s throat than any actual noise. Martin shudders, his stomach clenching and flexing as the pleasure rocks through him. John holds him in his mouth for a few moments until finally, the orgasm ends and he seems to calm. There's still a tremble in his legs from the effort of being held up so long, until the tension releases and they sink back from their elevated position to the bed sheets. He exhales as though he'd been holding his breath through most of the activity.

 

John lets Martin's softening cock fall from his lips and pulls the condom gently off, discarding the rubber onto his bedside table before moving next to Martin on the bed.

 

The man is working to control his breathing, the redness spread across his cheekbones and down his chest from his intense climax.

 

"Alright?" John asks. Martin's gone quiet and still. John runs his hand along his bare torso, outlining the deep color against pale skin.

 

"That was…" Martin begins, shuddering when John grazes a nipple. "Amazing."

 

John moves to kiss Martin's ear, his neck, any part of his face that he can reach.

 

"I'm glad," John mumbles into his ear, letting his wet lower lip catch along the edge.

 

His hips shift, his hard cock still seeking friction and relief. The movement brings him flush with Martin's thigh, and suddenly he's awake and aware once more.

 

"Oh, god, John I'm sorry-- should I, what do you..." Martin fumbles, propping himself on his elbow to reach over to John. His hand hovers halfway there.

 

"It's fine. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to," John says, though if that's the case he'll need to excuse himself to the loo in about 2 more seconds lest he cause himself some serious issues.

 

"No I… _want_ to," Martin says, finally resting his hand on John's hip, rubbing small circles there. He meets John's eyes and smiles warmly; John can't help leaning up to steal his mouth in a slow kiss before he responds.

 

"Just touch me," He asks. He's quite close after hearing all of those sounds from Martin, so he knows it won't take long, especially with the other man's soft, gentle hand.

 

"Ok. Tell me if-- if it's alright?" He asks, and John nods.

 

Martin immediately focuses, watching his hand move toward John's cock, wrapping his fingers around the middle in a light grip. John shudders at the contact, his hips thrusting forward into the circle of fingers.

 

"Ah-- yeah. Little bit… a little tighter," he says. His eyes glide closed and he rests his forehead on Martin's shoulder, his breath fanning out across Martin's already heated skin.

 

Martin adjusts his hand, hunching over a bit to get a better angle. The pressure is excellent and John is close.

 

"Good?" Martin asks, his voice sounding shaky.

 

John just murmurs something in response, some kind of affirmative word that he can't really place. He feels his climax building, the sweet heat building at the bottom of his spine. His panting grows faster and he moves his hips forward deliberately to increase the pace.

 

"Faster?" Martin asks. John nods but he feels like he needs--

 

"Keep talking, please--" he says, prodding Martin with his nose.

 

Martin is quiet for a long moment before he clears his throat.

 

"Uh-- I'm not sure… what-- does it feel good John? I want to make you feel good."

 

John moans, the arm not pinned to the bed comes up to grasp Martin's shoulder. Martin's hand moves quickly over John's shaft, circling his fingers in a delicious motion that covers every inch with the fluid that's begun leaking from the tip.

 

"You're amazing, do you know that? You look amazing. I want you too feel…" Martin rambles, trailing off as John's responses get a bit louder.

 

"Oh, christ, Martin…"

 

"I want you to feel like I did, what you gave me, John. John, it was fantastic, it felt so good, please-- for me, come on--" Martin encourages.

 

"Ahh," John bucks forward, his come spurting out onto his stomach and Martin's hand as he comes apart with the quiet encouragement. His orgasm rolls over him, a warm heat that spread across his limbs and sets a tingle throughout; it feels fucking brilliant.

 

Eyes still closed, John leans back onto the bed, dazed with his climax. Martin releases his cock but his fingers linger, trailing through the mess of come on John's stomach. John inches his eyes open to watch Martin and smiles; Martin is simply gazing at the evidence of John thoroughly enjoying himself - it's putting an incredibly endearing expression on his face that John finds he wants to see again, very soon, and very frequently.

 

Martin's eyes finally dart up to John’s and catch him watching. His hand withdraws quickly.

 

"Sorry," he mumbles.

 

"Don't you dare," John says, and grabs Martin’s hand where it's skating off to most likely be wiped off somewhere discreetly. John brings his wrist up to his mouth, places a quick kiss there first. Next is Martin's palm, and he sneaks his tongue out in the spot where he can still smell himself. Martin's breath catches and John's eyes dart up to his. He maintains the eye contact while he extends his tongue, licking Martin's fingers and the drops of come still painting his skin.

 

"Oh," Martin breathes.

 

After another kiss to Martin's now-clean fingers, John leans over to the edge of the bed and grabs his discarded shirt. He makes a perfunctory wipe down of his chest and stomach, glancing over at Martin to make sure he hasn't gotten any more of the sticky mess on himself. Once the shirt is tossed back behind him once more, he gropes for the comforter.

 

"Should-- Should I?" Martin asks, indicating between himself and his clothes.

 

"What? No," John says, grabbing for Martin's hand again. "Would you like to stay the night? I'd like you to."

 

Martin smiles and bobs his head quickly, indicating a yes.

 

"Right then. Good," John beams, finally scrambling under the comforter and laying his head onto his pillow. He reaches over to the lamp and switches it off. "I plan on having a proper lie-in, and then fixing us a full breakfast. After we shag again." He adds.

 

Martin's facing away, busy bringing his legs underneath the sheets, so John doesn't see his face. But he's been with this man all night so he'd put a large amount of money on the fact that he's probably blushing.

 

Martin stays silent once he's situated correctly as well, far enough away that John can feel his body heat but not the smooth expanse of his skin. He moves forward and wraps his arm around Martin's waist, insinuating himself directly behind him. He kisses across the side of Martin's neck and nibbles at his mouth until he turns so they can share a full kiss. Now that he has Martin's attention, he asks-

 

 

"As long as that's alright with you."

 

"Yes," Martin answers immediately and reaches up to kiss John again. "Please."

 

John moves back behind Martin, sufficiently closer now. Just as he's drawing his hand back again, thinking Martin will be more comfortable with his arm maybe just resting nearby - and he can live with that, or he'll certainly try - Martin grabs his arm and draws it up to his mouth. He places a peck on John's palm before intertwining their fingers and bringing their joined hands to his chest. He scoots his hips backward until they find John's and he hums in pleasure. John takes the hint and holds him closer, hiking his leg up and over Martin's.

 

They're snuggled together in almost every point, and John can't help but smile, hiding his grin into the soft ginger curls before him. He relishes their suppleness, the wonderful color he can still see even in the darkness; the color, he recalls suddenly, which drew him to Martin in the first place.

 

"I like you very, very much John," Martin confesses quietly to the darkness.

 

"I like you too, Martin." John answers. "Very much."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. John has promised Martin a few things and intends to deliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluufffff fluffy smut fluff. Snuggles and warm kisses and orgasms. Don't expect much else :)
> 
> Not beta'd or brit-picked, simply self-edited and triple-checked by me. Any mistakes or kind critiques would be appreciated, whether by a message to my [tumblr](http://intricatearticulation.tumblr.com/) or a comment here. Much obliged!

 

 

The first thought John has when he wakes is one of panic: is he late? Why didn’t his alarm go off? Why didn’t Sherlock wake him? Surely there’s a case on. Did he fall asleep on the kitchen table again?

 

But a few seconds of re-orientation and a blurry readjustment of his vision sets his panicked heart at ease. No work. No cases. Sleep. Comfort. A proper meal. A proper--

 

The lump of comforter next to John stirs, and the night before slots itself back into his memory. John smiles; as far as one-night stands went, Martin had been lovely. Both warm and hesitant, a mix that proved him to be incredibly endearing and sexy to John. Their conversation, snog on the couch, and resulting romp in his bed had just been genuinely fun. The kind of night John had been yearning for without knowing it.

 

John’s body has naturally strayed from Martin’s, pulling toward empty space on the bed as he’s known to do during the night if his body grows too warm. A quick check of the time on his phone - barely 8am and still time to lounge in bed, in his opinion - and he’s quietly making his way back toward the shuffling form.

 

Martin turns onto his back when John’s hand rests on his hip, his eyes still closed but becoming more aware. John smiles, running his fingers lightly up and over Martin’s chest; the touch elicits a soft murmur from him.

 

“Good morning,” John says, moving close enough that he’s nearly pressed up against Martin’s back once more.

 

Martin’s eyes barely open before he grumbles something and rolls toward John, tucking his body against John’s chest. John laughs, wrapping his arms around the warm bundle.

 

“Not much of a morning person, then?” John teases.

 

“I’m a pilot,” Martin answers, his voice rough and uncharacteristically low. “I have to be a morning person. All the time. So on the days when I don’t need to be up early, then I am, most certainly, _not_ a morning person.”

 

John has to admit, the logic is sound. And if it means more of this clingy, cuddle-prone behavior from a man that tends to be more shy and careful, he’ll take it.

 

“Can’t argue with that,” John says, leaning down to press a kiss into those ginger curls that have turned into a frizzy pile on Martin’s head. John keeps himself there, watching the other man shift about and get comfortable once more. Martin’s sporting an impressive start to an erection, which John noticed but makes no comment toward. He’d suggested morning sex the night before, but if Martin isn’t amenable, a lie-in and breakfast would still be fantastic.

 

Martin shuffles forward, hitching his leg over John’s to bring his face closer. The kiss is a peck, but Martin lingers, his eyes still closed; John inches forward to capture his lips once more. It builds into a slow, languorous melding of their mouths, a sleepy kind of kiss that John could lose himself in for hours. His hands wander over Martin’s soft skin, trailing fingers down his arms until his palm rests on Martin’s lower back, his other hand lying above them.

 

The kisses become more insistent as hands become more demanding as Martin's move to clench John’s shoulders. Another slide of their legs and John can’t help but smile into the kiss; he can feel Martin’s cock jutting into his thigh and growing in hardness. He’s become interested in the proceedings as well and is about to push his hips forward to prove exactly that when Martin pulls back.

 

“Oh--I’m sorry--”

 

The comment confuses John for a moment. Everything, in his opinion, has been going extremely well.

 

“What is it?” John asks.

 

Martin shuffles back as far as John's grip on that smooth expanse of skin allows.

 

"Where are you going?” John asks again.

 

“I’m… it’s just--” Martin attempts, growing frustrated at himself. John can see the blush building on his cheeks. Unable to resist, he strokes a finger there, relieved when Martin doesn’t pull away.

 

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth, and… here I am, kissing you and-- shoving my…” Martin explains, trailing off as he glances down.

 

“Shoving your hard-on into my leg?” John finishes for him.

 

Martin crumbles, hiding behind his hands, rolling onto his back and away from John. John follows immediately, attempting to pull Martin’s hands gently from his face.

 

“Martin, Martin…” John chides, and this time he presses his entire body against the other man, wrapping his legs and arms around Martin as comfortably as he can.

 

“Did I ever give any indication,” John begins, shifting so that Martin can feel his cock pressing into his hip. “That I wasn’t enjoying any of that?”

 

Martin allows John to withdraw his hands, but keeps his face turned toward the ceiling. John lays next to him, watching the redness dissipate and his body relax. It only takes a moment, and then Martin sighs heavily and turns his face to John.

 

“I’m an idiot,” Martin admits, his eyes darting down to John’s lips.

 

“Easily remedied,” John says, and kisses him once more.

 

Martin's more receptive with both physical and vocal confirmation that John is keen on morning activities. He's much bolder: the kisses turn from mouths pushed up against each other to parting lips and gasps. John's tongue ventures forth, and screw morning breath because Martin meets him halfway and _fuck_ that feels good.

 

Martin moans, squeezing hard on John's arm where it's trapped against Martin's chest. He moves his hips sideways and pushes against John's cock. Then it's John's turn to moan; Martin smiles and does it again, breaking away to watch John's face. John's eyes drift closed, his brain functions focused on his penis receiving the most attention. When his mouth realizes the kissing has stopped, he turns to lick along Martin's jaw.

 

"John," Martin gasps, the heartbeat under John's palm quickening. John answers with a soft bite, and Martin's breath catches on whatever might have come out next.

 

John is sure he would be content thrusting against Martin and adding to the hickeys on his neck all morning, but he has other plans in mind.

 

"I have an idea, if you're open to it," John murmurs into Martin's ear.

 

Martin's near panting calms, his hips squirming in the sheets as he turns to John. His expression is curious and open, though he hesitates for a split second before nodding. John gives him one last kiss before breaking away to roll toward the nightstand next to his bed. He grabs the lube from the top drawer and returns to Martin’s side.

 

Martin glimpses the item in his hand and looks back up at John. There's reluctance there, but not outright displeasure.

 

"John, I don't know—I don’t think I'm ready for that," Martin says.

 

John had been expecting the jump to that, of course, but he's proud of Martin for not hesitating to tell him the truth. It had crossed his mind, but he felt as though for Martin, they would work up to it. Later.

 

"That's not exactly what I had planned," John begins, and he can't resist a kiss to Martin's freckled shoulder. He looks up at the man through his lashes in what he hopes is a seductive gesture. "I won't fuck you unless you ask me to."

 

Martin's eyes go a bit wide at the outright declaration and anticipation of doing that together in the future.

 

"So, what..." Martin begins, and John pops the cap on the lube before pouring a large amount into his hand.

 

“I’ll show you. Anything you don’t like, tell me to stop, and I will,” John says. He slicks himself, the anticipation making him even more eager. The lube is a bit cold, so he pours more into his palm and generates some friction with his fingers before reaching for Martin’s thighs.

 

“Lay on your side for me,” John says. Martin moves, shifting his arm as if they were to spoon once more and settle into sleep. John smiles to himself, peppering kisses on the exposed back and shoulder before him.

 

“Here,” he continues, sliding his hand between Martin’s thighs. There’s resistance at first since he’s not expecting it, until John asks, “Lift a bit… that’s it.”

 

John grips himself until his cock sits just right, scooting his body further down the bed to improve the angle.

 

“Oh,” Martin says, understanding. His leg muscles contract, squeezing John’s penis where it rests, and John groans.

 

“That’s it. A bit-- ah, tighter,” John says, bringing his still-slicked hand around to Martin’s cock.

 

He lets his fingertips graze Martin from base to tip, a light tease before he takes him fully in-hand, just to hear Martin’s reaction.

 

“Ahhh-- hnngg, Joh--” The words break off in a gasp as Martin tips forward, his hips seeking the friction.

 

John squeezes as Martin moves, encouraging the thrust that brings them both pleasure. John’s hand travels down Martin’s cock, spreading lube as he goes and making the slide up even more delicious. He strokes Martin, building the pace and listening to his responses to certain motions.

 

When John grips tightly at the base, loosening his fist at the head to bring his hand quickly back down, Martin shouts, his hand flailing back to grab onto John’s hip. Martin pulls John closer, his hips flush with Martin’s. It feels amazing, the pressure on his cock and the heat of Martin against him.

 

"Good?" John asks.

 

"Yes, yes, oh--"

 

John sets a steady rhythm, thrusting forward toward Martin as he gives a long pull to Martin’s cock, then moving back together. The back-and-forth is perfect, their breaths matching the movement and spiraling toward something inevitable. A bead of sweat trickles down the back of Martin’s neck; John reaches out to lick up the salty, clear bead. He keeps his mouth there, nibbling and sucking dark marks into Martin’s pale skin.

 

“God,” Martin whispers, and clenches his thighs even tighter.

 

“Fuck, Martin, that’s perfect—”John gasps as his vision sparks for a moment, dissipating at the edges with the intense feeling. He takes the initiative to go faster, moving his hand with sure flicks and a tight grip: what he knows will bring Martin quickly to the edge with him.

 

"Ahh--" Martin's voice hitches up a few notches, his head tilting forward, bringing his neck from John's mouth where's it's been for the last few minutes. John gasps, panting in the cold, open air before him.

 

John's orgasm comes first, the exquisite tightness and pressure too much to resist. His hand stills on Martin's cock as he rocks forward, jerking movements placing him closer to Martin's back. His hand rests against Martin's shoulder blades as he lets the pleasure course over him. It dissipates as his consciousness returns from the intense climax.

 

Martin is still tense next to him, his free hand clenching the bed shirt in front of him. His hips twitch forward, and John's awareness returns to the man in front of him. This amazing person who has been so open and trusting since the beginning, though it’s against his nature.

 

John grips Martin’s cock, sliding his thumb ahead of his fingers to enhance the sensation, twisting and squeezing in the way he's learned Martin loves. He brings his mouth back up to Martin’s neck, his lips ghosting along the red blotches already starting to form. It takes less than a minute, and Martin is coming in John's hand. Martin's come spurts across the bed sheet, his head rearing back towards John's shoulder, where it rests as he rides out the rest of his orgasm. His hips twitch a few more times as his cock softens, his breath coming out in quiet moans that sound amazing to John.

 

Their breathing calms and their heartbeats work toward a normal rhythm, John still holding Martin's cock lightly in his hand. Martin shifts his legs where the stickiness is most prevalent while John maneuvers backwards to withdraw himself. He shuffles over to lie on his back but keeps his right hand on Martin's hip. Martin stays on his side, eyes still closed, hand still gripped around a clump of bed sheets, but otherwise relaxed.

 

John watches his breathing slow and waits until movement returns to his still form before he disturbs the silence.

 

"Well, morning shag's taken care of. How about breakfast?" John asks, chuckling a bit at the nonchalant question.

 

Martin rumbles something and gives a heavy sigh before turning onto his back, shoulder now resting against John's. He brings John's hand to his chest, absentmindedly stroking there. John delights at the thought.

 

"Breakfast?" Martin asks in a tentative way that charms John even further.

 

"Hmm, yes. Would you like that?" John replies. He turns toward Martin and smiles, his first view since their first snog that morning. Martin's face is flushed and glowing: not the redness he attains when he might be embarrassed, but a different tint throughout that suggests a warm flush. John revels in the fact that he put it there.

 

Martin simply nods, looking a bit put off by something that John can't place. Is there something about sharing a meal this morning that worries Martin? It can't be anxiety, since they've shared kisses and orgasms together already. It's been quite intimate without much of a question towards John's feelings, so he's unsure what to say next. That is, until Martin's legs stir and John registers the unpleasant sound.

 

"Ah," John says, peeling away the bed sheets. "The shower is just downstairs off the kitchen. You're welcome to use it while I cook."

 

John grabs the thick robe that rests on the back of the door and slips it over his naked frame. He glances over to see Martin rising as well, sitting up enough in bed so that the sheets have revealed his lower half to the light of the morning. John admires the pale, freckled expanse while he can, turning only when Martin seems to have finished stretching and cracking his neck.

 

John walks down the steps to the bathroom, using the loo and cleaning up before heading to the kitchen. He's pulling out ingredients for omelets when Martin goes padding past, just his shirt and boxers on. His red hair stands inches from his head in places, as though it's attempting to leap off his head in fire-colored spirals, and John chuckles.

 

"Towels under the sink, and I have another robe on the back of the door," John calls after him, and hopes that Martin does indeed wear his robe. He thrills at the idea of seeing him so casual in the living room eating breakfast with John. It feels warm and domestic in a way that he craves today.

 

John has just begun arranging the ingredients next to the stove when Martin darts through the hall and into the kitchen a few seconds later. John doesn’t register the sudden appearance until Martin plants a quick kiss onto his cheek. John looks over at Martin beaming next to him.

 

"Thank you, John," he says, and he's off again, walking back toward the bathroom. John waits for the door to click shut behind Martin before he starts chopping the tomatoes.

 

John is setting out the omelets on the recently cleared - well, half cleared - kitchen table when Martin walks back into the room. He is indeed wearing the robe, drawn by the smell of food rather than going back upstairs to change. His hair is wet but tamed, and John can't resist striding over to him in the doorway.

 

"Hm, it looks good. Tha--mmph," Martin starts, but John tilts his head and kisses Martin soundly, his hands sliding into the opening of the robe and over Martin's chest to rest on his shoulders. His skin is warm and pleasant, so John lingers there, even after he pulls away from the kiss.

 

"Mmh," Martin hums, smiling with his eyes still closed. John pecks him once more before drawing back completely.

 

"Breakfast is finished," John says, pulling out the chair for Martin.

 

It takes Martin a moment, visibly working to recover his senses. He shakes his head, an amused smirk alighting his features.

 

“You keep doing that…” He mumbles, sitting down next to John.

 

“Hmm?” John asks, turning toward Martin after taking a bite of his omelet.

 

“Well it’s-- you just…” Martin starts, cutting into his breakfast. “You make me flustered, as soon as I think I have my nerves under control.”

 

John chuckles, taking another bite. His hand sneaks over to Martin’s leg, resting there as he chews.

 

“I feel as though an apology isn’t what you’re looking for here,” John says.

 

“No! No, not at all,” Martin replies, and bless him - he looks panicked. John smiles and gives his leg a squeeze.

 

“I like the… act, of flustering me. I just get a bit overwhelmed, and I hope-- that is… I hope it’s alright,” Martin explains, focused on his plate.

 

“Martin, that’s--” John cuts himself off, because he doesn’t want to say it’s ridiculous. It’s just Martin, and John is learning that these exact qualities are something he enjoys coming from this man. It’s hardly been a full day with him, and John is certainly enamored. “Of course it’s alright. More than. I like it,” John says.

 

Martin smiles but says nothing, and the two eat in companionable silence for a few minutes. John can tell there’s something more, but perhaps that’s better left for another time.

 

And as soon as the thought emerges, John suddenly wants to make sure that he sees Martin again, even if it’s not as soon as he’d like it. They haven’t even exchanged numbers, and perhaps Martin wants to keep this a one-time thing… but John doesn’t let his thoughts get that far before at least asking.

 

Martin compliments the food, makes a few comments about the general din that litters the living space (“What exactly is growing in those petri dishes, John?” “Even if I could tell you, I don’t think you’d want me to.”), and keeps the conversation light and friendly. John sits back after he’s finished his meal, contemplating a cup of tea and a few of the errands he could get done today.

 

Martin stands when he’s finished, taking his dishes to the sink. John begins to protest when Martin actually gathers the pan and begins to do the washing up.

 

“Martin, you don’t need to--” John starts, rising from his seat, but Martin already has the sleeves of the robe rolled up and the water running.

 

“Oh, no, none of that,” Martin says, waving a soapy hand in his direction. “You cooked and let me shower and… everything else.” John is standing next to Martin, and smirks in his direction. “Let me at least do this.”

 

John nods, charmed by Martin’s simple kindness. He helps instead, drying a few of the bigger items before stowing them in their proper cabinet. Martin’s finishing up the last plate at the sink, and John has the terrible urge to wrap his arms around Martin’s waist. It would definitely fluster him, and John would delight in the giggles he could perhaps elicit once he started fixating on Martin’s neck.

 

Martin turns, toweling off his hands, and the opportunity slips by. The intimate daydream prompts John.

 

“Plans for the day?” John asks, and immediately regrets it. Was he suggesting that they actually spend the day together? Surely that was too much, too soon. He leans back on the counter beside him, anxious for Martin’s response.

 

“I have a moving job in a few hours,” Martin says, glimpsing the clock on the microwave, a frown settling on his face.

 

“Ah”

 

“And two flights this week. I won’t be back until Thursday, but that evening I’m free,” Martin says, growing more hopeful toward the end.

 

“Yeah?” John asks.

 

“Yes. Oh! Well, that is-- if you wanted… Uh, you were asking to see me again, right?”

 

“Yes,” John says, edging down the counter to lean in front of him. “I definitely was.”

 

“Good,” Martin says, looking down at the towel in his hands.

 

“Good,” John agrees, taking the towel from him to place it on the counter. John takes one of Martin’s hands and draws it slowly up to his mouth, placing a lingering kiss on his knobby, pale knuckles. He looks up just in time to see Martin’s face color beautifully.

 

“Why don’t you change, and I’ll walk you down?” John says, knowing if Martin lingers any longer, neither of them will get anything else done today.

 

“Alright,” Martin agrees, slipping his hand reluctantly away from John’s to turn and walk upstairs.

 

John meanders in the kitchen, tidying up a few things, bringing down a mug and tea to make a cuppa later. He remembers at the last instant to write his number down for Martin, and scribbles the digits on a piece of scrap paper just as he’s descending the stairs.

 

“Here,” John says, handing him the slip of paper. “You might need this so we can talk more about Thursday.”

 

“Oh! Right, of course,” Martin says, taking the paper and folding it once before sliding it into his pocket. His jeans and shirt are a bit crumpled, but there’s a glow to him, a brightness enhanced by his barely-dry ginger curls and the red tinting his cheeks.

 

John takes his hand, leading him down the steps and to the front door. He hesitates at the threshold, wanting to kiss Martin goodbye here rather than on the street in his robe.

 

“I had a lovely time, John,” Martin mumbles.

 

“I did as well. I’m glad you came home with me,” John says, tugging Martin’s hand forward to bring the man closer. Their lips brush, a soft, quiet kiss that brings a smile to John’s face.

 

“Call me when you can and we’ll plan something for Thursday. Maybe we can see a film,” John suggests. It’s been ages since he’s gone to the theater.

 

“Okay. I’d like that,” Martin answers, turning to walk through the door as John opens it.

 

Martin gives a brief wave over his shoulder before he’s off down the street, and John closes the entry door. He walks back up the steps, chucking at his brilliant luck; he’s already planning what they might do Thursday, looking forward to spending more time with Martin.

 

He definitely owes Greg a few pints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tosses confetti* 
> 
> Orgasms and omelets!! Wooo!
> 
> I wasn't planning on writing this second chapter, but your kind comments and the prospect of more Crieffson fluff wouldn't let me simply leave it. Though if I go any further, I can't ignore Sherlock. My logical mind allow it, and my Johnlock heart feels betrayed (just a tiny bit) already. 
> 
> I have an excuse for why he hasn't been texting/bugging John constantly for just these two days, but including him in this love fest might be a task I'm not quite willing to take on just yet. But TRUST ME - my brain is already supplying many scenarios. Threesomes, polyamory, voyeurism.... the possibilites are vast. And quite tempting.
> 
> Would that be something y'all would like to see? Any suggestions? 
> 
> Please comment and/or leave kudos if you enjoyed. It's a wonderful motivator and fills me with happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Come here friend, and let us roll around in this fluffiness together. *hugs* Aren't they the cutest?!?! UGH.
> 
>  
> 
> Right. So. Writing is really hard. Finishing a fic is even harder. Editing? Heeelll no. And then finally posting... it takes a lot of courage and energy. But your comments and kudos make me feel like every bit is worth it, even for something that's just a little indulgence like this!
> 
> Please come follow, say hi, and tell me about how much you love cheese at my tumblr [here](http://intricatearticulation.tumblr.com/).
> 
> ALSO. Have any ideas for some more dates for these two? I think it'd be lovely to revisit them, and if it's something people would read, I'd love to share what I write.
> 
> Thank yooouuuu for reading!!


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